


aim & ignite

by breathplayed



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No IT (King), Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-12 15:57:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13550673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathplayed/pseuds/breathplayed
Summary: Stan's peaceful life gets rudely hijacked by his mother's random desire for him to date a nice Jewish girl. Telling her he's gay only changes her mind to nice Jewish boy.Richie is not a nice Jewish girl - Richie isn't even his real boyfriend. But nobody has to know that. They just need to keep up the farce until the end of summer. Stan could handle that. Right?





	1. the first spark

**Author's Note:**

> i randomly got the idea for a fake dating au, posted it on[ tumblr](https://stonedzier.tumblr.com/post/170390220270/anyways-fake-dating-au-bc-its-one-of-my-favs), got shook at the amount of attention it got, and just wrote up the first chapter really quickly! i love fake dating and this whole fic is basically outlined so i'm about to do it!
> 
> this wasn't beta-read so please forgive any mistakes!
> 
> (i made sure to do some research on any of the jewish things i mentioned in here but if i'm wrong in any way pLEASE let me know and i'll make sure to correct it)

Stan had a pretty decent relationship with his parents. They were supportive, loving, maybe a little overbearing since he was their only son but overall he couldn’t ask for better ones. The Urises were the type that scrapbooked every important event of Stan’s life - his house was filled with pictures of him in his Boy Scout Uniform and they’d taken so many family portraits he’d lost count. So yeah, he love his parents.It’s not like he went somewhere far from home to get away from his house like Bill or Bev. No, he was only a few states away in New York with Eddie and Richie while Mike stayed in Maine and the rest went to California. 

 

He came home nearly every break, his mother expected it after all, and this winter was no exception, Hannukkah celebrations in full swing back at home, his parents pushing him to help with preparations for prayer service at the synagogue as well as the large party his mother hosted at their home. He complained to the rest of the Losers in the groupchat but still; the lighting of the candles, the comforting sound of his father’s voice as he led the prayers, and the goodness of his mother’s homemade challah were enough to make up for it.

 

This year, things went by pretty smoothly. His parents only had two minor breakdowns which Stan considered a personal victory, texting Richie during his One enough to get him through the rest of the celebrations. All in all, a successful Hanukkah had went by. And he still had the rest of vacation to enjoy before the quarter started.

 

Still, there was something different about this year. His mother just… wouldn’t stop talking about girls at the dinner table. Girls, that Stan had absolutely no interest in. 

 

“Little Debbie sure is all grown up now isn’t she?” Mrs. Uris commented cheerfully over dinner. Stan blinked at her as he took a bite of potatoes. Deborah Edelstein was a girl in his year who he remembered had dark curly hair. That was about the only thing he could remember about her.

 

“Uh… yeah. We’re the same age. Both twenty. Pretty grown,” he responded dryly, going back to his food. Out of the corner of his eye, he could’ve sworn he saw his mother stare at his father with a frustrated expression. Suddenly, a vague sense of foreboding settled over him.

 

Mr. Uris let out a deep sigh. “Are you close to Hannah at all, Stan?”

 

Oh no. This was not happening. Stan put his fork down. “Hannah’s sixteen, dad,” he stated calmly, though a vein on his forehead was throbbing with irritation. “It would be weird if we were close - what’s this about anyways?”

 

His parents looked at each other, his father clearing his throat uncomfortably until his mother finally spoke. “Well honey… like you said, you’re twenty this year. Pretty soon you’ll be done with college and we are so  _ so _ proud of you.”

 

Stan arched an eyebrow, waiting for the accompanying ‘but.’ “But.” Ah, there it was. “It’s been three years since you went to college and you haven’t brought anyone home at all. Your father and I are… worried.”

 

He couldn’t help the disbelieving snort that escaped his mouth. This? This was what they were worried about? That he hadn’t brought a girl home? Nevermind the fact that the chances of that were so low to begin with considering his personal preferences, but really? Stan was a straight A student, had an excellent internship, never caused them any problems, and his parents were concerned with his  _ love life _ ?

 

“Wow,” was all he managed to say, holding back his annoyance by the skin of his teeth. “I had no idea you guys felt this way.”

 

His mother brightened up, clearly unable to detect the sarcasm dripping from his words. “So we thought we’d set you up with a nice Jewish girl! Someone from home - “

 

Stan recoiled immediately. “Mom, oh go - geez, no don’t do that.”

 

“It doesn’t have to be a Jewish girl,” his father said seriously, startling him. “We just want you to be happy. It would be nice but we don’t want you not to date if that’s your concern.”

 

“Do you have someone back in New York, honey?” his mother pressed on before he could even start to be touched by his father’s sentiment. 

 

“Uh - “ Stan was frazzled. He had not been expecting this kind of discussion with his parents. At all. He wasn’t prepared, mentally or emotionally, to talk about this with them. Hell, he rarely talked about his love life with his friends. “No, but - “

 

“So you can get lunch with Debbie tomorrow,” she concluded with a beam. The irritation in that vein had spread so now Stan was seconds away from having a full-blown headache. 

 

“I don’t want to get lunch with Deborah,” he snapped back. Mr. Uris raised an eyebrow at him and his mother’s smile flattened into a thin line of disapproval. He shrank back, abashed, feeling like a scolded child. “I’m sorry,” he muttered petulantly. “But come on! I’m twenty, I don’t need my parents to set up dates for me!”

 

“It can’t hurt to meet the girl,” his father replied, going back to his dinner. “What could go wrong?”

 

Multiple protests started to rise in Stan’s throat but his father wasn’t even listening to him as his mother started to gush about where Stan could take Deborah tomorrow. Stan gaped at his parents in outrage - what this seriously happening? “Seriously?” he demanded but both of them ignored him. He huffed, pushing away his plate and standing up. “I’m going to Richie’s!” he called after them, making sure to sound as annoyed as possible.

 

“Oh wonderful idea!” his mother called back.  “Ask Richard for advice, I’m sure the dear has a girlfriend!”

 

Stan slammed the door in response.

 

* * *

 

Richie couldn’t stop laughing, bent over his childhood bed as Stan paced the room and ranted about what had just happened back at home. “Oh my god, they want you to date a nice Jewish girl,” he pitched up his voice obnoxiously, “who reads her Toraaaaaah.”

 

“I can’t believe them! It’s 2016! Who even sets their kids up anymore?” Stan tugged at his curls with a frustrated growl. “And tomorrow I have to go to lunch with Deborah Edelstein who I literally haven’t talked to since high school. High school! I don’t know a single thing about her!”

 

Richie shrugged. “Just tell her you like dick, Stan the Man.”

 

Stan made a face. “No way. She’ll tell her mom and her mom will tell all the other Jewish moms and then my dad will have a panic attack.”

 

“Papa Uris is probably more understanding than you think, Stanny. He didn’t care if you didn’t want to date a Jewish girl, remember?” Richie pointed out.

 

Stan shrugged. “Yeah but hearing his son’s gay from the local moms’ gossip is probably not the best way to go about it.” His shoulders deflated and Richie sat up, patting the space next to him. Stan sighed as he sat down, slumping his head against Richie’s shoulder while Richie pulled him close. The familiar heat of Richie’s body and smell of cigarettes was oddly comforting to him. “I don’t know what to do Rich,” he mumbled quietly.

 

“Maybe if you fuck a dude on Andrea’s favorite Ottoman, they’ll never bring up Jewish girls ever again,” Richie mused out loud. Stan elbowed him with a snort. “Ow, Staniel, stop! Okay but seriously, just put your foot down next time. The way you do with me.” 

 

Stan sighed loudly, letting Richie run his fingers through his curls comfortingly. “Can we please watch Dirty Dancing? I need Patrick Swayze to cleanse me.”

 

“Only if we get to watch White Chicks after.”

 

“ _ Ugh _ . Fine.”

  
  


Lunch with Deborah went surprisingly okay. They talked mostly about the Hanukkah festivities, what they had been up to at their respective colleges, all polite small talk over the nicest Italian place in Derry. An all expenses paid courtesy of Mrs. Uris. Stan was honestly never more glad for his stiff facade with strangers when the day ended with Deborah gently saying that maybe a next date wasn’t the best idea. Or maybe, he just gave off intensely gay vibes that Deborah could read. Either way, he was grateful.

 

Mrs. Uris, didn’t take too kindly to that. “She’s not interested? In our Stanley? The most interesting boy in the world?” she demanded of Mr. Uris who simply nodded over his newspaper. Stan bit the inside of his cheek, not sure if he should be endeared by his mother’s affection or annoyed by her overbearingness. 

 

“It’s alright honey,” she turned to him with a determined expression before he could say anything else. “We’ll find someone else for you. Plenty of nice Jewish girls in our town.”

 

Stan looked at his father desperately. The man just continued to read his newspaper. Useless.

 

With only a week of vacation left, Stan found with increasing horror that his mother really did arrange a date with a girl from his synagogue for every day. Elizabeth had come over to go bird watching and he had to flatly inform her that all the birds had migrated before awkwardly closing the door on her. Rachel wanted to go to the movies but ended up crying at the end of Rogue One, Stan patting her back awkwardly as the worker impatiently waited for them to leave the theater.

 

Stan documented his stress through Snapchat, all the Losers sending him sympathetic messages. Except Richie. Richie screencapped everything, much to stan’s chagrin. “I need to show your future boyfriend how your parents tried to  _ straighten _ you out,” he cackled when Stan tried to steal his phone to get rid of the evidence.

 

“You deserve death for that pun, I hope you know that Richard.”

 

The final straw was Hannah. When he opened to door to see her grinning at him with a bright smile, Stan felt the last strings of his patience, held together only through the love and respect for his mother, snap in an instant. “You’re in high school,” he snapped at her. Her face fell. He only felt a little bad. “You shouldn’t be here. There are plenty of other high schoolers you could date. I think it’s best that you leave.”

 

As soon as the girl left his doorstep, he stormed to the living room, turning off the TV and standing before his parents on the couch. Mrs. Uris beamed, not at all unconcerned with the fuming expression on Stan’s face. “Was that Hannah dear? Aren’t you going to lunch?”

 

Stan took a deep breath, trying to rein in his anger. “Hannah is in high school. I sent her away.”

 

Mrs. Uris deflated a bit at that. “Oh honey, don’t let that stop you. Your father and I are three years apart you know. But if you insist, I’m sure there’s someone else who - “

 

“No, Mom!” Stan’s voice cracked through the room like an angry whip. His parents immediately froze. “No more girls! I’ve had enough of this!”

 

“Stanley,” his father started with a warning tone. But Stan didn’t care. He was beyond over this. He couldn’t believe the time he’d wasted going on dates and then complaining about said dates to his friends. This was ridiculous.

 

“I don’t want to go on dates. I don’t want a  _ girlfriend _ ! Why can’t you just respect that?”

 

Holy shit, his mother was starting to tear up. How was this his life right now? “We just want you to be happy,” she sniffed. “I don’t understand why you didn’t like any of the girls I picked. They were all so sweet. A sweet girl for my sweet boy.”

 

His mom didn’t understand.  _ Well _ , Stan thought a little hysterically.  _ Time to make her understand _ . “I don’t like girls Mom,” he said very calmly, a complete farce to the turmoil that was going on inside his body. “Do you know why? I’m  _ gay _ !” He shouted the word, loudly, stunning both his parents into gobsmacked silence. “You guys know what that means right? I like boys. I want a  _ boy _ friend! So for the love of Go - just stop inviting every Jewish girl in Derry to try to win my hand in marriage!”

 

He turned on his heel and flounced away, cheeks burning, head swimming, but feeling very, very satisfied with himself.  _ Good for you, Uris, _ Richie’s voice hummed in his head.  _ It was about time. _

 

* * *

 

“You did  _ not _ ,” Eddie gasped at him. They were driving back home, packed tightly in Richie’s second-hand Pontiac. “You really just yelled that you were gay and walked out? Just like that?”

 

Richie cackled out loud. “Stanley Uris, the man, the legend, the myth himself, really went up and turned the Uris household inside out!  Happy Hanukkah, Andrea and Don!”

 

Stan smacked Richie’s arm from his place in the passenger seat. “Richie, cut it out!” He looked over at Eddie’s shocked face from the back. He understood his reaction, he really did, with a mother like Sonia Kaspbrak, one had to live very carefully. Eddie was almost gayer than him but he was still very much in the closet back in Derry. “I just... got so tired of all that date nonsense. But, they didn’t say anything. It was really quiet yesterday but they both hugged me and told me they loved me before we left.” Stan shrugged. “ So I guess I’m not disowned.”

 

Richie honked his horn loudly. “Stan the Maaan!” he roared, stepping on the acceleration.

 

Stan squeaked as he was pelted forward in his seat. “Richie stop! We’re gonna get pulled over at this rate!”

 

The spring quarter went by and Stan was too busy with his school work and internship to really stress out much about his parents and their reaction to him coming out. His mom texted a lot more often but it was about innocent things like if he was eating right and not to drink too much coffee. Nothing about his sexual orientation. Stan wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

 

She did sent a few weepy texts when he told her he was spending spring break in Seattle with the losers, celebrating Ben’s birthday late and Bev’s birthday early. It was only with the promise to be back for the summer that he was able to spend that week without much grief from them.

 

When the warmth of summer started to roll in, Stan began to panic. “I haven’t been home in four months,” he hissed to Richie as Richie drove up his street to drop him off. “I have no idea what’s waiting for me in that house. Richie, don’t let me go in there alone.”

 

“You are soooo dramatic,” Richie laughed at him, tousling his hair. “You need to stop hanging out with Eds, babe, it’s bad for your blood pressure.” He parked the car in Stan’s driveway and Stan let out a whimper. “Alright you big baby, I’ll stay here and wait for your all clear text. If something goes down, just zoom out and we’ll run back to New York.”

 

Stan took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay.”

 

Richie held out his hand and Stan grabbed it, squeezing it so tight, his nails dug into Richie’s skin. Richie didn’t even flinch, grinning at Stan widely when he let go. “Roll out, Stanlito.”

 

“I fucking hate that nickname,” Stan mumbled as he got out of the car. 

 

Stan turned the doorknob three times, tapped his shoes on the welcome mat six times, before cautiously stepping into his house. “I’m home,” he said quietly, putting his bag on the floor and shrugging his coat off. It wasn’t too late to run back to the safety of Richie’s car.

 

“Stanley!” Stan jumped as his mother came rushing through the kitchen door, squeezing him tightly. “This was terrible, you can never be away from home for this long ever again!”

 

“College, mom,” he managed to say, patting her on the back, his shoulders still stiff in her hold. She pulled back a little to smile at him, her eyes a little wet. Stan really hoped she wouldn’t start crying, because then  _ he’d _ start crying. It was genetic. 

 

His father came up behind her and for a second Stan started to panic. Was this it? Was this when they sat him down and drilled a Jewish pride speech into him and how being gay wasn’t valid?  How a rabbi couldn’t have a sham like him for a son? That’d been his fear all along. He felt sick with anxiety, his palms starting to sweat.

 

But all his father did was take his bag as his mother dragged him into the kitchen for lunch. Numb with relief, he took out his phone and typed a shaky ‘all clear’ out to Richie. He ignored the mass of emojis Richie sent back along with “I TOLD YOU SO” in all caps.

  
  


The first week of summer vacation was peaceful. Stan went birdwatching with his dad, cooked traditional meals with his mom, and would even go out to the quarry with Eddie, Mike and Richie, waiting for the other three to finish up their semester. 

 

Honestly, Stan should’ve suspected something. It was too peaceful, after the disaster that was winter vacation. There was no way summer would go without a hitch. That would be too good to be true. But he was tricked by the calm, the relief at not getting kicked up too intense to suspect the peace.

 

So when his mother started talking about Daniel Harding, a respectable Jewish boy who went to school in Pennsylvania, alarm bells started going off in his head. “Mom,” he said slowly cutting her off. “What… is this?”

 

Mrs. Uris blinked at him. “Well darling, you don’t want a nice Jewish girl - which is fine you know we accept you no matter what - so I’ve put in my work finding you a nice Jewish boy!”

 

Stan swore part of his soul left his body and just floated up into space. “What?” he squeaked out loud. His father was pointedly not part of the conversation, staring hard at his newspaper. “You -  _ what _ ?”

 

“Daniel used to play baseball,” she said conspiratorially as if baseball was the secret behind winning Stan’s heart. And god, his mother might really think that, bless her heart. “And he’s just a year younger than you so age appropriate! Should I call him up?”

 

Stan’s face turned bright red. This was even worse than before. “Mom, please, no!”

 

“If you have a boyfriend,” Mr. Uris looked a little pained as he spoke. “That’s fine. I understand if you kept it from us, but just let us know.”

 

Stan squawked in response, absolutely speechless. His mother let out a considering hum at his father’s words. “You know, you do spend an awful lot of time with Richie.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is there something  _ else _ you’re not telling us, sweetie?”

 

At that, Stan couldn’t help his desperate burst of laughter. “Yeah, sure mom. I’m dating Richie,” he mocked her, ignoring his father’s disapproving tsk. Of all people. Richie! She thought he was dating Richie! Stan wanted to scream.

 

Mrs. Uris looked very unimpressed with his display and opened her mouth to speak but Stan shook his head. He could not handle this right now. “Actually, I’m going out - “

 

“With Richie?” his father interrupted with a raised brow. Stan really was going to scream. 

 

“ - with  _ friends _ , so don’t wait up for me.” With that, Stan quickly gathered his things and ran faster than he’d ever ran before, straight to Richie’s house.

 

* * *

 

Stan didn’t say anything once he’d arrived, just took out his DS and said “let’s battle” in a tone that left no room for argument. Richie blinked at him in confusion until Stan kicked him in the shin to get him moving. “Pokemon is no reason to get violent, Stanley!” Richie shouted at him as Stan climbed up the stairs.

 

“Pokemon  _ is _ violence, you absolute fool.”

 

“Yeah but they don’t die.”

 

They sat on Richie’s bed, shoulder to shoulder, tapping at their DS-es in silence. This was the best thing about Richie. Most people thought Richie never knew how to shut up, but they were wrong. Richie knew, he just picked and chose when he wanted to care. Luckily with Stan, he normally cared enough to keep his mouth shut when it mattered. That’s why they battled for a good five minutes, the tension slowly oozing out of Stan’s body, before Richie finally popped the question: “So what’s up, buttercup?”

 

The reality of how ridiculous his situation was suddenly hit Stan. He put his DS down and started to cackle, a full-bellied one while Richie looked on in amused concern. “Yowza! Stan the Man’s lost it! I thought you all those numbers weren’t good for the brain!” Richie put a concerned hand on Stan’s forehead. “Oh doc, we’re losin’ ‘im!” he cried out in a British accent.

 

Stan shook his head, tears springing to his eyes. “My parents,” he gasped out through his laughter. “Tried to set me up with a dude!”

 

Richie’s jaw dropped. “No. Fucking. Way. Even  _ Don _ ?!”

 

“Oh god my dad looked like he was about to pass out. Richie.” Stan grabbed his shoulders, shaking him repeatedly. “Richie. Richie. Richie!”

 

“Whaaat, Stanny?” Richie laughed, batting at his hands.

 

Stan shook his head, wheezing as he remembered his mom’s words. “They, they thought - they thought I was dating  _ you _ .”

 

A very strange expression came over Richie’s face but Stan was too busy howling with laughter to have noticed it. Him and Richie! Dating! The sheer madness of it! Pretty soon, Richie was laughing along with him, the two of them collapsing back on Richie’s bed. Stan wheezed as he started to calmed down, staring up at the ceiling. “Do you think all Jewish parents do this?”

 

Richie snorted. “Definitely not, Staniel. Your parents are Jewish  _ and _ psycho.”

 

Stan smacked him on the chest for that. He agreed, but still. Those were his parents.

 

They picked up the battle again, Richie’s Charizard coming to play against Stan’s Alakazam. As Stan debated over what move to make, only two Pokemon left for each of them, something came over him. Something crazy. Something that resulted from getting pushed to the mental brink by his ridiculous parents. “Hey,” he said quietly, keeping his eyes on the screen. He didn’t know where the words were coming from. It’s like he had gotten possessed. “If I win this battle, be my fake boyfriend for the rest of the summer to get my parents off my back.”

 

Richie didn’t miss a beat. “Bet.” he said just as Charizard attacked. “If I win, you gotta drive me around all summer. And back up to New York.”

 

“Deal, Trashmouth.”

 

Five minutes later, when Stan won, he looked up at Richie for the first time in nearly ten minutes. Richie had a weird face on, his lips were twitching like he wanted to smile but his brows were also furrowed with annoyance. Stan had to hold back the usual urge to rub his victory in Richie’s face - he’d won just more than bragging rights.

 

He won himself a fake boyfriend.

 

Richie huffed out a breath. “So babe,” he drawled the word out suggestively, making Stan’s cheeks turn pink. “Meeting the parents on the first date, huh? Will you at least put out?”

 

Stan leaned back, grabbed Richie’s pillow, and swung it firmly across Richie’s face.

 

_ “No putting out on the first date!”   _ he squeaked, hitting Richie again. Richie grunted in pain before grabbing Stan’s wrist, and tugging him close. Stan fumbled into Richie’s lap, the two of them landing in an awkward pile on the floor.

 

Richie let out an exaggerated sigh. “I can’t believe I’m dating such a prude.”

 

Stan’s cheeks turned even hotter. “Richie!”

 

“What? I’m serious. Should I like, give you a hickey - “

 

Stan squealed with laughter as Richie started to tickle his neck. “Nooooo! Stop it, you asshole!”

 

This was Richie. His stupid best friend. His partner in crime. They were just going to play a massive prank on his parents, a summer long prank. This was  _ Richie _ . This was going to be a piece of cake. Just one good old fashioned pretend relationship gimmick.

How hard could it be to pull it off?

 


	2. light a candle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Uris demands to have Richie for dinner. Stan expects the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i rewrote this chapter several times because i really wanted it to be funny but uhhhh i'm out of humor juice i guess!! if you laugh even once reading this chapter, then i'll be satisfied.
> 
> the title is taken from fun.'s album "aim & ignite" - that entire album is like the soundtrack to this fic, lighthearted and fun! give it a listen, especially to "light a roman candle" and "i wanna be the one"

It had been two days since Stan’s Alakazam beat Richie’s Charizard, two days of Richie being Stan’s fake boyfriend except nothing had actually changed. Richie still picked him up to go hangout with the others, they still went halfsies on fries and onion rings at the diner, and still argued about what music to play in the car. Very normal Richie and Stan stuff. No mention about fake boyfriends or anything similar to the subject.

 

But yesterday his mother brought up the idea of dating a nice Jewish boy again and in Stan’s panic he managed to blunder his way out of a blind date by confirming his mother’s ‘suspicions’ about Richie. She had let out a shriek so shrill, Stan was pretty sure his hearing was permanently impaired, before demanding Richie come over for dinner the next night.

 

“I won’t take no for an answer Stanley!” she’d said firmly with her arms crossed. “I can’t believe you tried to hide this from me.”

 

Under his mother’s ferocious gaze, Stan had no choice but to relent. There was no getting out of this dinner.

 

So here they were, back in Richie’s room as Stan frantically went through his closet to find something decent for him to wear. Richie didn’t look particularly enthused by the idea.

 

“C’mon it’s just dinner. Andrea already knows what I look like,” Richie protested when Stan pressed the one button-up he deemed as acceptable into his hands. He blinked at the wrinkled fabric. On second thought…

 

Stan snatched it back from his hands. “Where’s your iron? And do you have any jeans that aren’t ripped?”

 

Richie rolled his eyes. “Stanny Stanny Stanny. I’ve been coming over to dinner for years now. Ripped jeans and all. It’s not a big deal, yeah?”

 

“We have to be _convincing_ ,” Stan whined back, aware of how childish he sounded right now, but not caring enough to stop. “You’re not being a very good boyfriend right now, Rich!”

 

Richie’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh yeah? And you would know what being a good boyfriend entails, hmm Stan?”

 

Stan’s cheeks flushed a bit. Yeah, okay, he’d been single for most of his life but so had Richie! His numerous conquests back at school didn’t count, at all. The closest Richie had come to actual dating someone was when he slept for the same girl three weekends in a row and she’d showed up for hangover breakfast with all three of them. Stan had once imagined what it’d be like to date the TA for his finance class and that was about it for his love life.

 

But that didn’t matter. This was Richie. “Yeah,” he continued on, lifting his chin haughtily. “You have to listen to everything I say.”

 

Richie hooted, grabbing Stan by the waist and throwing him playfully on his bed. “In your dreams, Uris!”

 

“Richie! You’re going to wrinkle my clothes, asshole!” His voice came out cracked and Richie immediately tugged him into a sitting position, concern on his face. Logically, Stan knew he had nothing to worry about. But he couldn’t help the tense anxiety that had risen in his chest, right on the verge of overwhelming him. His mother wanted to see Richie. Not Richie, his best friend, but Richie his boyfriend.

 

This was a certain recipe for disaster.

 

“Hey, I’m sorry.” Richie crouched down so that he was eye-level with Stan, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Look I’ll… wear the stupid button-up okay? I’ll wear the acid-wash jeans and hey - you can wear my jacket! That’s boyfriend-y right?”

 

Stan managed a wobbly smile. “All your jackets are garbage.”

 

Richie squinted at him. “Tell me again why I’m doing this for you?”

 

“Because I’m the Pokemon master,” Stan replied smugly. Richie barked out a laugh.

 

“How can you say such lame things with all the confidence in the world?”

 

Stan’s eyes widened. “Pokemon is lame now? Alright, we’re breaking up. And I’m taking all of your garbage jackets.”

 

Richie clutched at his heart dramatically, falling to his knees, making a ridiculous spectacle of himself. “Aghast! You’ve wounded me, Stanley! Wounded!”

 

The tension had loosened in his shoulders and his anxiety quieted down to a silent hum. This, Stan could work with. “Okay seriously Trashmouth where’s your iron?”

 

“Babe I’ve never seen a damn iron in my life.”

 

* * *

 

That night, Stan’s mother wrapped Richie in such a tight hug at the doorstep, Stan was afraid that she may never let go. “Mom. _Mom_! Mom, you’re suffocating him!” Stan hissed, tugging insistently at her arms until she finally let go.

 

“Nice to see you too, Andrea,” Richie choked out, rubbing at his neck. He’d put on the button-up like Stan requested, and wore jeans without any rips. Stan was so used to Richie’s ridiculous fashion, he forgot how well he could clean up sometimes. Though his hair was the usual chaotic mess. Stan really should’ve forced him to brush it.

 

“Oh Richie!” she said with emotion, touching Richie’s face. “You’ve gotten so tall! So handsome! Where have you been hiding all these years? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

 

Richie flashed a charming grin. “Stan’s greedy.”

 

Stan let out a little noise of horrified despair, turning bright pink when his mother turned to give him a look. He fidgeted with the sleeves of Richie’s surprisingly comfortable denim jacket. It was huge on him. He felt like a child in it, that feeling heightened with his mother looking at him like that.

 

“Can we - you just - “ Stan huffed, opting to shut up, flip Richie the bird and go inside. Richie offered his arm to Mrs. Uris, the charming fool, and she chatted his ear away as Stan led them to the dining room.

 

“I don’t understand why Stanley didn’t tell us earlier, you know we support you boys one thousand percent - “

 

Stan wondered if there was a polite way to tell his mother to shut up because she was started to sound like those cringey allies who posted LGBT positive memes on Facebook without knowing what they meant. His father was at the head of the table, reading the paper. “Oh Don,” his mother snapped her fingers to get his attention. “Can you set the table dear?”

 

Mr. Uris looked up with a small frown on his face. “Andrea, I’m reading.”

 

His mother’s smile tightened, “Don,” she said warningly.

 

“We can do it, Mom,” Stan interrupted quickly, grabbing Richie’s elbow and pulling him away from his mother. His father smiled at him approvingly, looking back at his paper.

 

“‘Course, babe,” Richie replied easily, following Stan. Stan was used to the nickname by now, Richie used it on almost all of the Losers after all. Still, the way his mother cooed as soon as she heard it made his ears burn and he couldn’t get into the kitchen fast enough, slamming the door shut.

 

“Tone it down,” he hissed at Richie as he took the plates out of the cabinet, making sure to keep his voice quiet but firm. He and Richie had gone over some ground rules in the car briefly, only because Stan had a tiny panic attack when they were pulling up, sure that his parents would see through the farce. Use pet names, touch each other casually, tell a funny story. All easy stuff.

 

Still, planning it out was very different from actually going through it. Now that Stan was in his house, with his parents, the daunting reality of having to sit through an hour dinner with them, Stan wasn’t sure if he could handle it.

 

Richie snorted, covering his mouth when Stan shushed him. “I haven’t even done anything yet!”

 

Stan frowned at him, handing Richie the plates to carry. “What were you planning on doing?” he asked suspiciously.

 

Richie beamed. “Well I was gonna spread you on the table and French you right after dessert - _don’t kick Stanny that hurts_!”

 

Stan smiled in petty satisfaction as Richie limped back to the dinner table, the two of them setting it quietly. Mrs. Uris’s mindless chatter filled the air, his father grunting out a reply every now and then. Stan couldn’t help but feel a little awkward. What was he supposed to do? Was he acting like a boyfriend? What did he had to do to be convincing?

 

Suddenly, he felt stupid. Richie was right, he hadn’t even done anything over-the-top yet but Stan had told him to cut it out because he was too embarrassed. Now they were going to be tense for the rest of the night and his mother was going to see right through him and -

 

“Andrea, whatever’s in the kitchen smells amazing!” Richie said, breaking through Stan’s thoughts. Mrs. Uris beamed at him.

 

“It’s roast chicken! It should be done soon - you eat chicken, right dear?”

 

“Richie eats everything,” Stan replied dryly. “His stomach is a black hole.”

 

Richie looked over at him with an amused expression, mouth twitching in a way that surely meant he was holding back on a dirty joke. “Well,” he started and Stan tensed. “Not everything. Have you ever tried Stan’s snickerdoodles, Uris family?”

 

Stan’s face heated up. His parents lifted their heads in interest. “No,” he whined, pushing at Richie’s chest. “No do _not_ tell this story.”

 

“Snickerdoodles?” his mother asked delightedly, ignoring Stan’s protest. “I’ve never seen Stan bake.”

 

“That’s because I can’t,” Stan muttered under his breath, resigning himself to the embarrassment he was about to be subject to.

 

“That’s because he can’t!” Richie echoed gleefully, swinging an arm around Stan’s shoulder. “Jewish Association has a bake sale and Stan was like, it’s just following a recipe right? How hard can it be? He was so confident in himself… and then he forgot to put baking soda.”

 

“It only needed a teaspoon!” Stan defended himself hotly. “Objectively, that’s the smallest ingredient! The least important!”

 

His mother was already laughing, his father’s face furrowed with confusion. Richie cleared it up pretty quickly for him though. “His cookies were basically rocks,” Richie cackled. “Cinnamon flavored rocks.”

 

Stan smacked him again. Most things, he could do pretty well. He didn’t like being reminded of one of the few things he had failed at. “You ate ten of those rocks, if I remember correctly,” he snapped, narrowing his eyes at Richie. “And you said they weren’t that bad!”

 

“Of course,” Richie didn’t miss a beat. “It’s the boyfriend’s job to eat cookies. Even the terrible, rock-solid ones.”

 

Mr. Uris made an approving noise. “That’s right, my boy. Sometimes you just have to stay quiet and not say anything.”

 

Mrs. Uris’s smile froze solid. “Is there something you want to share with the rest of us Donald?”

 

Richie and Stan exchanged amused glances as Donald spluttered over his words, the sound of the oven beeping saving him from digging an even deeper hole with her. Stan helped his mother bring out the rest of the food. She’d gone all out - chicken roast, mashed potatoes, a salad, and Stan was pretty sure a fruit tart was chilling in the fridge.

 

Richie whooped happily once the food was properly placed on the table. Stan smacked the back of his head. “Manners,” he chided and Richie pouted at him.

 

“Yes dear.”

 

Mrs. Uris squealed. “Oh aren’t you two just precious! Did you see that honey - they use pet names! Pet names!”

 

Stan watched in horrified fascination as the strangest stiffest smile stretched over his father’s face. He heard Richie let out a huff of a laugh before quickly stuffing his face with potatoes to disguise it. He swallowed quickly, offering Mrs. Uris a bright smile. “Best damn potatoes in Maine, Andrea.”

 

“Oh, Richie.” Mrs. Uris tittered happily in response.

 

“Too bad my dear Stan only inherited your smashing good looks and not your impeccable cooking skill,” Richie adopted his classic shitty British accent, making his mother giggle even more.

 

Stan rolled his eyes. “Quit buttering my mother up.”

 

Richie’s eyes widened. “Oh Stanny,” he started, a familiar dirty grin dawning on his face. “The _only_ thing I wanna butter up is - “

 

Stan kicked him swiftly, Richie’s grunt of pain cutting off his surely inappropriate reply.

“You alright son?” Mr. Uris asked in concern.

 

Richie nodded, smiling through his wince. “Muscle spasm,” he hissed out. Stan lifted his hand over his mouth to hide his snicker.

 

They ate in relative silence for a few moments, Richie continuing to let out raucous exclamations of how delicious everything was, Stan quietly complimented her cooking after. Mrs. Uris beamed at them both, basking in their praise, before her expression changed gears. Stan felt sweat beading at his forehead as he grabbed his glass of water.

 

“So Richie,” she started slowly, looking over at him with shrewd eyes. Stan swallowed his water hastily. _Oh boy. Here it comes._ “How long have you two been together? Stanley only recently mentioned his, ah.” She cleared her throat, fiddling with her fork. “Interest in boys recently so…” she trailed off expectantly.

 

Okay. This was fine. How they got together was one of the things they’d discussed. Richie had jokingly asked him on a date and Stan had jokingly agreed and… things escalated from there. That was nondescript yet specific enough not to ask any questions. At least, Stan thought it was. He sure hoped that it was enough for his mother.

 

“I don’t know really,” Richie said honestly. Stan almost choked on his potatoes. He quickly jabbed his foot against Richie’s calf as discreetly as he could. Richie wasn’t an idiot, there was no way he just forgot! They talked about it only thirty minutes ago!

 

Richie ignored him, steamrolling ahead, making Stan’s heart drop into his stomach. “Stan and I have been friends for so long you know. It’s kinda weird when you bring dating into the picture. But Stanley here sure is the cutest boy I ever did see,” Richie drawled, pinching Stan’s cheek fondly. Stan gave him a desperate look, hoping to convey his worry with his eyes. Richie blinked at him from behind his glasses, the same cheesy smile on his face.

 

They were screwed. They were so screwed. His mother was going to call out Richie’s bullshit, kick him out of their house, and call that nice Jewish boy she had on speed-dial. Dooming Stan to blind dates for the rest of his young adult life. All of this was done for nothing.

 

“One day we were just best friends, the next day we weren’t.” Richie shrugged. “If I had to say, maybe a year?”

 

 _A year?!_ Stan shrieked in his mind. “A year?!” Mrs. Uris gasped, placing a hand on her chest in shock. Even his father seemed to be surprised by this, staring at them both intensely. “Stanley, why didn’t you say anything?”

 

Stan froze at the attention on him. “I, uh,” he croaked, his throat suddenly very dry. He clumsily groped for his glass of water again, blinking with surprise when Richie pushed it towards him. He took a quick gulp, even more surprised when Richie placed a comforting hand over his. Richie’s large palm was warm and dry in comparison to Stan’s cold clammy skin.

 

“It’s okay, babe,” Richie reassured him and Stan immediately closed his mouth. Despite his internal struggle, something inside just told him to let Richie handle it. “My parents don’t know either. We sorta just kept it between us ya know? New York is a lot more open-minded than Derry. It was just hard for us, Stan especially.”

 

Mrs. Uris nodded with a slight frown and Stan felt his gut clench with guilt at how shiny her eyes were. Stan wasn’t the type to hide things from her, a genuine mama’s boy, who called home every week to updated her on his life. It must be hard hearing that the son she was so close to was hiding such a big secret for a year.

 

Even though it was complete bullshit.

 

“Please don’t think you have to hide from us,” his mother pleaded with them. Richie squeezed Stan’s hand tight, as if he could sense the guilt resonating inside him. “Stanley, your father and I care so much about you. And Richie, you’re like a second son to us! We will always support and love you. Do you understand?”

 

“That goes for me too,” Mr. Uris added gruffly. “I’m no good at keeping up with what your generation does nowadays but you’re still our son.”

 

“Thank you ma’am. Thank you sir,” Richie replied, uncharacteristically solemn. Stan bit his lip, thrown by how sincere they sounded. He felt like a terrible person. Richie’s thumb rubbing comforting circles on his knuckles, the only thing keeping him together. He took a deep breath, counting to five, tapped his fingernails on the wood of the table three times.

 

“I’m sorry,” he replied in a trembling voice. “I love you guys too.”

 

Mrs. Uris smiled wetly at him, accepting the handkerchief his father passed to her and wiping at her eyes quickly. She cleared her throat, clapping her hands together firmly. “Now then, who’s ready for dessert?”

 

Richie excused himself for a smoke break, Stan quick to follow him out into the backyard as his mother cut the fruit tart inside. As soon as they were outside, Stan immediately launched himself in Richie’s direction, Richie quickly enveloping him in a tight hug.

 

“I’m the worst,” Stan whimpered into his chest. Richie’s hands were in his curls, stroking them in comfort.

 

“Shh, Stan no you’re not.”

 

“They’re being so supportive!” Stan whispered, trying to keep his voice calm but unable to keep the frantic edge out of it. “You know, most kids would kill to have parents this great about their sexual orientation. But here I am being a filthy li - “

 

“Hey,” Richie interrupted him, stopping what was sure to be one of Stan’s panic-induced rants. “It’s not like you’re totally lying. You are gay. You would have a boyfriend, if you weren’t so busy.”

 

Stan groaned again. “I’m a terrible human being.” He thumped his head over and over on Richie’s chest, the rumble of Richie’s laughter making him pause. He looked up at Richie, pouting at his amused expression. “Stop laughing!”

 

That just made Richie laugh again. “You’re so cute, babe!” he cooed, reaching for Stan’s cheek. Stan slapped his hand away.  “No but seriously Stan, you’re like the best son ever. Your parents were being a little crazy so you had to throw them a little white lie. It’s not gonna hurt them, I promise.”

 

“Promise?” The word slipped out of Stan before he could properly process it. It took him back to when he and Richie were six, when Stan’s OCD and anxiety were way worse, when he couldn’t eat without scrubbing his little hands until they were red or when he refused to step on the cracks on the sidewalk in fear he’d really crack his mother’s back. Richie was the only one patient enough to deal with his idiosyncrasies, his easygoing nature keeping him from getting too bothered by Stan’s habits. Still, there were times when Stan’s anxiety got too much, Richie had to coax him to come outside.

 

“Nothing’s gonna hurt you, Stan. I’m here!” Richie would say with his hands outstretched. Stan, teary and fragile at six, would chew his lip anxiously until he finally stepped out of the door.

 

“Promise?” he always asked. Richie never laughed at him for that, even though he laughed at a great many times. He simply took Stan’s hand in his, linking their pinkies together.

 

“Or I’ll swallow a thousand needles,” he swore every time.

 

Richie blinked at him, a soft smile spreading on his face. “Or I’ll swallow a thousand needles,” he replied, offering his pinky to Stan. Stan sighed, linking his pinky with Richie’s.

 

“I’d pay good money to see that.”

 

“Ah, I see Sassy Stan’s back in town. I miss Sweet Stan already.”

 

“Shut your mouth and take out your cancer stick already. My parents are gonna think we’re making out or something.”

 

“Or something,” Richie winked lavisciously, grabbing a cigarette from his pack, and lighting it up. Stan wrinkled his nose. He didn’t like the act of smoking very much, but he had to admit the smell that lingered afterwards was pleasant. Even the jacket he was wearing right now had the faint woodsy smell of tobacco.

 

But mostly, he liked the smell because it reminded him of Richie.

 

“Whatcha staring at, Staniel?” Richie cocked his head at him, cigarette dangling from his mouth. “You so stressed you want a drag?”

 

“Ugh, no.” Stan made a disgusted noise. “As if I would ever smoke one of those.”

 

“Remember sophomore year - “

 

“That didn’t count! I was drunk!”

 

“So then the time I went streaking doesn’t count because I was drunk?”

 

By the time they stepped back into the kitchen, both of their cheeks were flushed from their laughter. Though, judging from the suggestive eyebrow his mother raised at them, Stan was sure she thought they had been fooling around.

 

 _Oh well,_ he thought to himself. It didn’t matter. Richie was supposed to be his boyfriend, after all. The implication of fooling around wasn’t that bad.

 

“So listen,” his mother started as she handed them both plates of fruit tart. “Your father and I are… going to step out for a little bit. You boys can stay here. Make it a date night… or something.”

 

Stan nearly spat out his strawberry at her words. Never mind. The implication of fooling around was way worse than he thought, especially coming out of his mother’s mouth. Richie had froze in the middle of taking a huge bite, his fork dangling comically over his mouth.

 

“M-Mom!” Stan managed to squeak, looking between her and Richie horrified. Mrs. Uris wasn’t looking at him, simply packing up the leftovers from dinner to put into the fridge.

 

“No need to thank me dear. We have _Casablanca_ on DVD, you love that movie!”

 

“Pfft,” Richie snorted. “I knew about _Dirty Dancing,_ but _Casablanca_ Stan?”

 

“It’s a classic you little shi - wait, mom you really don’t have to go!” Stan shouted as his mother exited the kitchen gracefully. He sped up behind her, stunned to see his father at the door, all ready to go. Before he could even think of begging his parents to stay, the door slammed shut, and he and Richie were all alone in the house.

 

He gaped at the door in disbelief, hearing Richie come up behind him, chewing loudly on tart crust. They both look at the door for a while, waiting to see if Stan’s parents will show up, like this was some sort of trick. When it became apparent that wasn’t happening, Richie cleared his throat.

 

“So…” he said slowly. “ _Casablanca_?”

 

Stan spun on his heel, staring at Richie with wild eyes. “Why the hell did they leave us alone?”

 

Richie didn’t answer him. “You know Humphrey Bogart is actually kind of a hunk - “

 

“What did they think we were going to _DO_?” Stan demanded, sounding just a shade shy of hysterical. “Why couldn’t they have gone upstairs while we watched the movie in the living room?!”

 

“...Maybe Andrea thinks screaming is genetic.” Richie looked pained, like he knew he shouldn’t be saying this shit but simply couldn’t help himself. “Because you know, she screams when your pop’s sticking his - “

 

“Beep beep Richie!” Stan shrieked, shoving at his arm, frustrated to see Richie didn’t even budge an inch. “Stay down here with Humphrey - I’m going to my room!”

 

“Aww babe, I’m sorry! You didn’t let me do the ‘butter your roll’ bit earlier so I had to!” Richie whined, following Stan up the stairs.

 

“Stop calling me babe!” Stan snapped at him as he opened his door.  “We’re alone now - _oh my God?!_!” Stan screamed as soon as he stepped inside. Everything was still in place, neat and impeccable, just as he left it this afternoon before he went to Richie’s. Except right on his bed, looking as innocuous and innocent as possible, was a pile of condoms and lube. Stan stared at it in horror, knowing without a doubt that his mother had put those there.

 

Stan staggered backwards towards the doorway, right into Richie. Richie braced his hands on his waist, peeking over his shoulder. “Stan what’s wron - yowza, yowza, _yowza_ ! Holy _shit balls_!” Richie swore loudly, his fingers digging into Stan’s sides. “You - you didn’t do this did you Stan?” Richie’s voice had gone unnaturally high, almost squeaking in disbelief.

 

Stan just wheezed in response, sagging against Richie’s chest. “My mother left us alone to have _sex_!” he wailed loudly, confirming aloud what he’d suspected as soon as Mrs. Uris left the kitchen. “My parents think we’re having gay sex, right at this very moment in time!”

 

Richie was shaking so hard behind him, it took Stan a second to realize he was laughing. He whirled around with a furious expression. “You think this is funny?! You think it’s - “ he cut himself off, gesturing wildly to the safe-sex pile resting on his sheets. His mother really had spent too much time reading Buzzfeed articles on how to be a good ally. He was going to have to cut out her internet. It was the only way.

 

“Oh god, my stomach,” Richie gasped out, stumbling towards the bed. “I’m gonna die for like real Stan. They’re gonna have to lock Andrea up.” Stan stiffened in horror as Richie reached for the pile.

 

“Don’t touch them!” he screeched just as Richie picked up a condom. He squinted at it before cackling all over again, dropping it back on the bed, wrapping his arms around his stomach as he laughed maniacally.

 

“No worries babe,” he choked out, taking off his glasses to wipe at his eyes. He’d actually laughed so hard he cried. He cried! Stan wanted to cry too. “They’re way too small for me anyways.”

 

Stan covered his face with his hands. “I hate you,” he replied, voice muffled. “I hate you so fucking much.”

 

Richie responded by taking a small packet of lube and flinging it in Stan’s direction. Stan shrieked loudly, diving to the floor to avoid it. “I’m going to kill you!” he threatened as a delighted Richie continued to fling lube and condoms at him. “I’m going to shove every single one of these down your throat!”

 

“Yeah baby, talk dirty to me!” Richie jeered. He kept it up until Stan crawled across the floor and leapt for Richie’s legs, bringing him down hard. Using the momentum of Richie’s fall, he scrambled up until he was sitting on Richie’s thighs, essentially straddling him.

 

Richie blinked up at him, his glasses crooked on his face. There was an odd look in his eye. Stan was too busy panting from the exertion of dodging his throws to pay attention.“You know,” he said cheesily, bringing his hand up to the small of Stan’s back. “This position would be a whole lot sweeter in bed.”

 

Stan calmly took the condom remaining in Richie’s hand and proceeded to stuff it in Richie’s mouth.

 

* * *

 

Eddie hated coming back to Derry for vacation. If he could, he’d stay in New York all year long. Unfortunately for him, Stan and Richie liked coming back which meant he had to as well. It wasn’t all bad - the gang all got together which was rare with them all in different parts of the country.

 

But still, the worst part was having to deal with his mother. Eddie had learned to stand up to Sonia Kaspbrak long ago with a shaky but firm voice and somehow managed to wriggle out of her ironclad grip enough to escape to New York and live a life for his own. A crazy, hectic life that he loved.

 

Still, her sickly sweet voice calling him “Eddie-bear” always made him feel like he was twelve again, small and weak. It was hard to resist her when she asked him for things so he tried to stay out of the house as much as possible.

 

This time, she’d grabbed him before he could leave, pleading for him to go grocery shopping with her. So here he was, chilling in the dairy aisle with his shopping cart, while his mother picked up some over the counter meds. If she planned on giving any to him, he’d flush them straight in the toilet.

 

He was in the middle of texting Mike when he heard a familiar voice chattering away. He looked up and sure enough, Stan’s mom was a few feet away from him next to the orange juice, talking to another woman Eddie didn’t recognize. He started walking over to say hi when her words stopped him in his tracks.

 

“ - and can you believe my little Stan has a boyfriend? A boyfriend!”

 

 _Boyfriend?_ Eddie mouthed the word in shock, staring at Mrs. Uris’s back.

 

“Is he Jewish?” the other woman asked in a hushed voice.

 

“No, but Don and I decided we don’t care about that, Stan was never going to be a rabbi. It’s actually very sweet - his best friend!”

 

 _Best… friend_ … Eddie’s head was spinning. There was only one idiot who loudly proclaimed himself as Stan’s best friend even though they were _all_ each other’s best friend, thanks very much Dick Tozier.

 

Still, he listened to anticipation to the rest of the conversation. He didn’t care if eavesdropping wasn’t polite, this was shit he had to know.

 

“Oh, Maggie’s boy is that right? Ronnie something or the other.”

 

“Richie!” Andrea Uris corrected brightly. “Richie Tozier.”

 

Eddie’s phone slipped from his hand and landed on the floor with a loud crack. “Holy shit,” he whispered to himself. He remained shocked still next to the yogurt long after Mrs. Uris and her friend moved on, their words echoing in his head, until his mother came waddling through the aisle, huffing and puffing and calling his name.

 

He slowly picked up his phone, ignoring the crack on his screen, composing a group message that excluded the obvious party.

 

_you guys arent gonna BELIEVE what i just overhead!!!!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love making mrs uris a really enthusiastic super involved with her son's life kind of mother. it makes things a whole lot funnier. anyways, comments and kudos are super appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> i know i have other projects but this was so much fun and stress free to write i couldn't help it! pwease fowgive me i'm sowwy. your feedback is greatly appreciated - i love your comments and kudos! and as always, feel free to say hi on [tumblr.](https://stonedzier.tumblr.com/)


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